Rules for Heiresses by Amalie Howard

Fifteen

Ravenna probably shouldn’t have left London. In hindsight, she really, definitely shouldn’t have done it without telling her husband. Because here she was in Hastings alone, having arrived by Ashvale’s private railcar, one of the benefits of being married to a duke, she supposed. Although the sumptuous railcar belonged to Courtland before he’d become duke.

She was only beginning to understand exactly how wealthy her husband was. This railway car, while smaller than the one they’d traveled in after the Glory had put in to port, was no less luxurious.

No doubt Rawley had alerted his lord and master that she’d intended to purchase a public train ticket on her own, fully expecting to travel to Hastings alone, and he had been the one to insist on her use of the duke’s railcar. Not to mention that Rawley had followed her hansom cab halfway across town. Ravenna bit her lip, feeling guilt slice through her.

Perhaps she should have informed her husband of her whereabouts or that she was leaving London. Her jaw clenched. No, that cold-blooded rotter didn’t deserve to be told anything. It was too late to do anything about it now, and she was already there. Might as well push forward with living the wonderful life of Ravenna Chase, impetuous heiress and notorious hothead, estranged duchess and resounding dimwit.

Her fingers twisted in her skirts, her chin rising high. She would not think of him or the equal parts blissful and dreadful night they’d shared almost two weeks ago in the conservatory. Two weeks of complete and total avoidance. The first handful of days, she’d pleaded illness due to the arrival of her menses—which had saddened her for no particular reason though she bitterly imagined that her husband would be pleased after his thoroughly sensible and prudent midcoitus precautions. She had barricaded herself in her rooms, reading any salaciously gothic novel she could find. Besides sending a fretful Rawley to check on her once or twice, the duke had not seemed troubled by her absence or her silence.

After that, she’d enlisted her lady’s maid, Colleen, who seemed to have taken a shine to the duke’s dour and unwilling valet Peabody, to inform her when her husband had departed for his daytime activities so she could get some fresh air. She took breakfast in her chambers and filled her days by entertaining callers, practicing her pianoforte, and perfecting her needlepoint—Lady Holding would be so proud—all the tediously necessary accomplishments of a lady of her station. At night, she’d attempted to keep herself busy, though the endless whirl of musicales, theater outings, and soirees had left her miserable.

And unquestionably lonely.

The sad, pathetic truth was she missed Courtland, though he didn’t seem to miss her in the same way. Her husband had fallen back to his hard, heartless ways with little care for anyone around him.

Not even her.

That had been made clear at the Hartford ball only last night. Peabody had delivered a curt message that the duke had been held up by business at the last minute and would not be able to escort her. In a rash display of temper, Ravenna had gone alone. Courtland had arrived sometime later, his blank-faced mien giving away nothing, though his eyes when they’d landed on her had burned with an internal fire. He hadn’t danced with her or sought her out, and his aloof treatment had stung. Others had noticed, too.

In the retiring room, the whispers had reached her.

“Estranged already?” someone had tittered.

“It was bound to happen.”

“I don’t care what anyone says, he’s not one of us.” The last had been said with such scorn and disgust that Ravenna had almost leaped from the water closet to defend her husband. “I heard he’s not even the real duke and that his brother is the true heir. So scandalous.”

“Speaking of scandal, what of his lady wife?” a vaguely familiar voice had said. “I’m certain that little tart disgraced herself abominably and that’s the only reason they married. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was with child.”

They’d broken into ugly chortles before someone else had snickered. “They’re quite the pair, aren’t they? The heathen and the hussy. They deserve each other.”

“Oh, that’s clever, Jane!”

Ravenna had been shaking with anger as the spiteful ladies departed. She’d known her past exploits and her reputation for being cold were food for gossip in the ton, but she’d never before been the target of such obvious scorn. Then again, she’d lost touch with most of her old set. She hadn’t seen any of their faces, but had identified one of the voices as belonging to Lady Penelope, now the Countess of Halthorpe.

Penelope hated her, mostly because Ravenna had thwarted the girl’s designs on Rhystan years ago. It didn’t help that her husband, the Earl of Halthorpe was a score her senior, had the face of a toad, and was rumored to be a debauched profligate.

After the awful incident in the retiring room, Ravenna had attempted to find Courtland to put on a show of marital solidarity, but was informed by a gloating Penelope that the duke had departed. Without her. The sneer the countess had sent her, along with the pitiful glances from her former acquaintances, had been hard to ignore.

Ravenna couldn’t fathom if they pitied her for the duke’s obvious lack of devotion where she was concerned or the fact that she’d married such an unfeeling ogre in the first place. Her own husband couldn’t find it in his heart to be around her or see her home safely despite his late arrival at the ball. He simply did not care.

Which accounted for Ravenna’s sudden need to quit town.

She’d had to run somewhere.

And so she decided that morning to take a trip to Hastings to see Sarani and baby Anu, whereupon she’d been stalled by Rawley at the station and escorted to Courtland’s waiting rail carriage. Now, as the hackney pulled up to her brother’s beautiful seaside estate, aptly named Joor Royal Green after the duchess’s childhood home in India, Ravenna felt instantly eased.

The scent of the sea filled her nostrils and she breathed in deeply. It wasn’t quite the balmy tropical air of the islands, but it would do. Extensive manicured gardens with statues and fountains dotted the landscape and led up to the sprawling residence. Ravenna descended from the conveyance and, instead of the butler, was greeted at the doorway by her smiling sister-in-law, a swaddled bundle in her arms.

Surprise glinted in Sarani’s hazel eyes. “Ravenna, darling, what brings you here?”

“I had to see you and my niece,” she said. “And since Rhystan said you weren’t planning on coming to London until later, I decided to come see you. I’m sorry for arriving unannounced. I suppose I should have sent a telegram or something.”

“Please,” Sarani said. “As though we stand on ceremony here. Family is always welcome at any time. And besides, I’m rather desperate for some female company. Rhystan has been gone for days, busy in the House of Lords with some American issue regarding supply of goods and shipping fees.”

“American?”

“Liverpool trading issues from private merchants supporting the conflict in the Southern states.” She sighed. “It’s intolerable that such atrocities still exist.”

“Truly,” Ravenna replied, reminded momentarily of Sommers and his nefarious shipping, but she shoved him from her mind. “I’m glad Rhystan is doing something about it.”

“That’s your brother for you,” Sarani said.

It made her think of Courtland and his own work in Antigua, and how much the locals respected him and vice versa. But the thought of him made her ache, so she banished him from her head, too.

She and Sarani spent most of the morning catching up on gossip from while she’d been gone, which was broken up by luncheon, followed by a walk on the beach. Apart from a long nap, her infant niece remained with them, wrapped in a clever body sling made from a swatch of soft woven cotton. Ravenna was struck by how tiny and perfect she was. Baby Anu was the perfect mixture of both her parents, sporting her father’s huge blue-gray eyes, her mother’s thick dark hair, and delicious plump skin the color of sun-glazed peaches. She was a beauty.

Ravenna loved that Sarani chose to look after her baby herself, instead of depending on a wet nurse. Being the daughter of a duke, the child had a veritable army of nannies and nurses, of course, but Sarani wanted to do the bulk of mothering herself. Ravenna had to admit, cuddling her sweet infant niece had been an unpleasant shock to her system, knowing that her own husband had snatched that choice from her without any qualms whatsoever.

She hoped for children…not now, but someday.

Do as you like.

Courtland’s cutting words rose to haunt her, making a lump gather in her throat. The callous beast! Given the fact that she wasn’t the kind of woman to cuckold her husband, or conceive a child out of wedlock, it seemed unlikely that she would ever mother children of her own. Not to mention his offer of a divorce! That deeply depressing thought sent a harsh stroke of hurt into her chest. Determined not to think of the dour duke she’d married, Ravenna continued to skillfully steer the conversation away from her disastrous nuptials.

Her shrewd sister-in-law, however, saw right through that ploy. “I take it you’re not happy, then?” she asked, propping a hungry Anu to her breast as they sat on a blanket on the sand. The attending servants retreated a few feet away to give them some privacy. “Being married to the Duke of Ashvale? I’m sure the dowager is pleased.”

Sarani didn’t care that Queen Victoria had declared nursing one’s child an unsuitable practice for refined ladies, or what anyone in the ton thought of her. Ravenna heartily agreed. Besides, there was nothing more natural than feeding one’s baby, not that she would ever get to know. A pang filled her, but she ignored it. She would have to have an enthusiastic partner and a functioning marriage before even thinking of nourishing infants.

Ravenna shrugged, sipping Sarani’s special brand of tea that one of the servants had brought along in a picnic basket. “You know Mama, of course she is. She despaired of me ever getting married.” She let out a slow breath, wondering how much she should confess. “In truth, it’s not what I expected.”

“How so?”

Sarani would understand better than anyone, considering her own background and the challenges she’d faced in being accepted.

“Ashvale doesn’t think he deserves to be married to me,” Ravenna explained. She pursed her lips with a thoughtful frown. “I haven’t gotten to the bottom of it, but I suspect it’s a convoluted mess that has to do with Stinson’s and Lady Borne’s feelings toward the first marchioness. They are calling out his legitimacy as well as the late duke’s state of mind, and I fear it’s going to get much worse. They want to do anything they can to discredit him.” With her voice trailing off, she stared down into the teacup as though it held answers, and then exhaled. “I’ve never seen this side of Stinson. So vicious and hateful. Lady Borne too. It’s as though I’ve been living with blinders on all these years. The way they treat him is abominable.”

“Because of his origins?”

Ravenna nodded, lips tightening. “I cannot countenance it. He is the legitimate duke.”

Sarani gave her a small, understanding smile. “Prejudice is rampant in England. Though I have been welcomed at court and I’m lucky to be in the queen’s favor, people still rant about me behind my back.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“With courage and a good dose of humor. I try not to let the opinions of others affect how I choose to live or whom I choose to love.”

“Courtland doesn’t see it that way. I fear his scars run deep. Likely tied to Stinson, I suspect.”

Sarani nodded thoughtfully. “Rhystan is not particularly fond of Lord Borne, either, or is it Lord Stinson now, considering your husband’s rather astonishing return from the dead.” She frowned. “Rhystan did mention that legal certification of his death had never passed through the courts, which is rather surprising, if you ask me. You would think they’d want to get approval as soon as possible.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not an expert on laws, but the family of a peer must wait seven years before declaring him dead, and it would have to be legally sorted out before the title and entailed lands could past to the next heir in line.”

Ravenna’s brows drew together. “But Stinson was calling himself the Marquess of Borne, which was Courtland’s courtesy title, because everyone believed his brother to be dead.”

Sarani nodded. “Apparently, it was never corroborated in the courts, and for good reason since your husband is clearly alive and kicking. He would have had to go back through the courts and prove his birthright.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face. “People will do anything in the pursuit of power. I should know—my own cousin tried to murder me!”

“It boggles the mind.”

“Heavens, it’s like a theater production, isn’t it?” Sarani pantomimed fanning herself with the baby at her breast as though she was in the grandest of ballrooms instead of in the middle of nursing. “So Shakespearean.”

Ravenna huffed a laugh. “Indeed. Drat, I do wish you were in town. It would make things so much more bearable.”

“You’re that unhappy?”

“I don’t know what I feel. Ashvale is…guarded on his best day. And on his worst, well, suffice it to say that he offered me a divorce when this is all over because he thinks it’s what I want.”

“Is it?”

She bit her lip. “It was. I mean, I thought that’s what I had wanted.”

Sarani canted her head. “And now?”

“I don’t know. He’s trying to push me away, for what he believes to be my own good. It’s not, though, but he won’t hear it.”

To Ravenna’s surprise, her sister-in-law chuckled. “I’m not amused at your expense, sister dear, but what you are recounting reminds me so much of how I felt with your brother. We stubborn-hearted fools do so love to bear our heavy burdens on our own. I felt that Rhystan did not need to be saddled with me or shoulder any hardship that marrying me would bring. But that was his choice, not mine to make for him.”

“I remember,” Ravenna said. It sounded very similar to what Courtland was trying to do. “What should I do, then? When I try to talk to him, he shuts me out.”

“Don’t give up.”

“Easier said than done.” The answer was simple, though maddening at the same time. Her husband was well practiced in pushing people away and keeping them at a distance. His heart was walled in and barricaded from any and all interlopers. Including her. “Did you know we were engaged once? When we were young.”

“Rhystan mentioned it.” Sarani deftly burped Anu by gently patting her rump and back, and then switched her to the other breast. “But it was called off?”

Ravenna’s mouth twisted. “I was told he’d died of illness somewhere on the Continent. His family went into mourning. But what actually happened was that his stepmother was the one to send him away from England with a handful of money and a few servants.”

“That’s terrible.”

Her shoulders lifted into a shrug. “We were children. Cordy and Stinson were the only boys outside of my brothers that I knew, and such a betrothal arrangement didn’t mean anything real for either of us at that age.” A memory of them danced into her head and she smiled. “He gave me my first kiss. I’d forgotten.”

Sarani’s eyes lit up with interest. “Did he?”

“Well, on the cheek. Completely innocent. I was all of six or so. One afternoon, I was chasing the boys, as I often did, to the fort they’d build between our estates, and I fell and turned my ankle horribly on a tree root. My brother Richard laughed. Stinson too. But Courtland ran back to where I was and carried me on his back all the way home. He wiped my tears and kissed my cheek, telling me to be brave and that even the best and bravest warriors got wounded sometimes.”

“Sounds like he was a sweet boy.”

Ravenna shook the bittersweet memory away. “Too bad he’s the exact opposite now.”

“That bad a husband?” A smile played over Sarani’s mouth.

“Worse.”

Sarani winked, her lip kicking up at the corner. “But is he a dutiful husband?”

Ravenna warmed. She should have guessed from the mischievous look on Sarani’s face that the question would be forthcoming. It was obvious from her emphasis on dutiful that it had everything to do with marital congress, though said act had only been performed the one time.

“As far as duty goes, it’s a marriage of convenience. Most aristocratic marriages are.” She rolled her eyes, unable to contain the hot blush that would not quit spreading over her transparent skin. “Not everyone expects to have what you and Rhystan have, you know, a sickeningly happy love match with your marital duties taking up all your sleeping hours.”

Sarani laughed, a bloom coloring her light-brown cheeks. “Waking hours, too, though not since Anu’s arrival.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Ravenna sniffed, loving that Sarani and her brother were so happy and envious of their obvious passion for each other.

“Jesting aside, it’s not all sunshine and games. Both your brother and I are pigheaded to a fault. We quarrel over the smallest things. At my worst, I am not the easiest person to love. Ravenna dearest, you know that.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ravenna declared loyally. “You are the most lovable person I know, barring my new niece, of course.”

“Thank you, sister of my heart, but my point is it took time for Rhystan and me to trust one another. We fought hard for what we have and almost lost it all along the way. I’m saying that if one of us had chosen differently, we might not be here. We might not have had Anu.” She paused, her stare lifting from the baby to Ravenna. “Do you at least care for your duke?”

“I…have feelings for him, I suppose, but that’s because of forced proximity.”

“And when he touches you, how do you feel?”

She owed Sarani the truth. “Alive.”

Sarani’s eyebrows shot up at the despair Ravenna couldn’t quite hide from her voice. “That’s a start.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t want any of this.”

Sarani handed off the sleeping baby with milk beading on her perfect rosebud lips to one of the waiting nurses, and adjusted her clothing. Her hazel eyes gleamed in the sunlight as she turned her face up to it. “One thing I’ve learned is that most men rarely wear their hearts on their sleeves or say what they are truly feeling, but the right woman can read between the lines.”

“This man speaks his mind,” Ravenna said. “He offered me a divorce, Sarani.”

“Perhaps he sees it as a way to spare you.”

She scowled. “Spare me from what?”

“From being hurt.”

“By hurting me in the first place?”

Sarani took Ravenna’s hands and squeezed, her face full of empathy and understanding. “Trust me, if what you’re telling me is true about his past, he doesn’t see it that way. I don’t know him, but my guess is that he’s trying to protect you, albeit in a misguided way, from being married to him. He’s offering you the out before you reject him of your own accord.”

“But I won’t reject him.” She stared out at the rolling sea, remembering the moments of unguarded emotion on the Glory. “I like who I am when I’m with him.”

“I’m sure you do, dearest, but he doesn’t believe that.”

What Sarani was saying made a strange sort of sense. Her husband was pushing her away because he didn’t feel worthy of her. But she wasn’t the problem. Courtland would never feel worthy of anyone unless he felt worthy of himself. How could she make him see what she saw when she looked at him? A man of such accomplishment and honor. A man who people loved and men admired. A man any woman would be proud to call husband. Especially her.

“How do I fix this?” Ravenna asked.

Her sister-in-law smiled. “By being the warrior I know you are. By fighting for what’s yours.”

“He doesn’t want to be mine.” She was aware she sounded peevish, but the doubts had crept in and wouldn’t leave.

For an elegant princess-turned-duchess, Sarani’s grin was decidedly wicked. “Since when has that ever stopped you from going after what you want? The only person you control is you, Ravenna. If you choose to let him go, that is your decision. But if you don’t, you should move heaven and earth to make it happen.”

“What if I fail?”

“You won’t,” her sister by marriage said firmly. “But you won’t know that until you try.”